What Happened Before
by HereBeHobbits
Summary: The story of the woman who left Lewis (Cornelius) at the orphanage door on a dark and stormy night.
1. The End

The wind seemed determined to blow the rain into my hooded face and soak the cardboard box I held awkwardly against my chest, but I was equally determined to keep its contents dry. As quickly as I could in high heels, I walked down the dark and wet streets of New York City towards the 6th Street Orphanage. I began to feel eyes on my shoulders after crossing the final, deserted street.

 _It's nothing,_ I told to myself, but I quickened my pace, trying not to slip. I walked up the steps to the orphanage, ready to rid myself of my burden forever. I planned to put it down brusquely and hurry away, but as soon as I placed the cardboard box on the porch, I couldn't help but look at the baby's inquisitive eyes. They were my sister's eyes, and his were shining with life as hers would never shine again. I took him out of the box and held him close, one last time, tears wetting my eyelashes. Foolish thoughts of keeping the boy, stepping on a train, and running away from this whole mess began to enter my head, but thoughts of the last three hours crowded them out and I remembered that he would never be safe with me. As if to confirm my fears, there was a slipping sound not two feet behind me, followed by scrambling steps. My heart began to beat wildly and my mind went blank. I hastily put the baby back in the cardboard box, banged on the orphanage door a few times, and hurried back the way I had come. I refused to look behind me, but my back was tingling as if waiting for a bullet. It was two blocks before my mind relaxed enough to remember the last I saw of the boy… worried blue eyes but a relaxed mouth. He never cried.

Tears streamed down my own face, mixing with the rain, and I thought, _Good boy, don't be afraid, don't cry. There have been too many tears in your world already._


	2. The Beginning

What ended at the 6th Street Orphanage in New York City really began many, many years earlier on a farm in upstate New York. It started with a man who thought he could run an apple orchard. My father had a vision of waking up at the crack of dawn each day in a cozy house to drive a tractor full of small children through green and red rows of Granny Smiths and Galas, then selling cider and doughnuts out of a beautiful red barn. He was determined to be more than his brother, who drank himself to death after poor investments, crop failures, and bankruptcy. So he sold the failing cornfields and bought a slightly livelier apple orchard. I'm told my mother stayed by him for as long as she could, but after four years the house was still drafty, business was still slow, and the red barn still an area marked out with twine. She left one morning without ever saying goodbye. I was six years old, cowering behind a nine-year-old Amy, when my father stumbled into the house late that night, smelling of whiskey and tears.

I don't believe my father ever had much of a head for business, but after that night, things began to deteriorate more quickly. More and more money disappeared from our coffers and was flushed down the hole of the local bar. The tractor broke, but there was no money to fix it. Windows in the house fell out of their chipped frames and were replaced with plywood and nails. During the winters, Amy and I dragged our mattresses downstairs and slept in front of the small space heater we fed with wood chips and branches broken off dead apple trees, pretending to be asleep when our father came home.

I think Amy, being older, had to grow up too fast. As soon as she was able, she worked for tips bussing tables at a local restaurant, and in high school spent afternoons into the night taking orders and serving Vegetarian, Meat Lovers, and Margherita pizzas at Minelli's. She was very attentive, always making sure I was clothed and fed, but I could sense her bitterness. She graduated from the local high school with few friends and grades far lower than they could have been, and her mouth did not move from a straight line as the principal handed over her diploma and shook her hand. She breezed past me without a word after the ceremony, roughly removing her polyester cap and gown. I followed in equal silence, allowing her some relative privacy to curse our father for taking away her childhood and burdening her as a teenager with all the responsibilities of an adult.

Our father was slumped over the kitchen table when we arrived home, Amy's one pair of good shoes smudged with dust from the road and sweat pooling on my neck where my ponytail met my back. He raised his head and blinked blearily at us. There was a silver beer can in his hand and four more in the greasy sink behind him.

"How was… how was school?" He slurred, squinting to read the time on the grimy stove.

"We weren't at school, dad," Amy said tightly, unceremoniously shoving her cap and gown into a trash can.

"…What?"

"I graduated!" Amy said, her voice shaking. She waved the green mortarboard in our father's face. "I graduated, dad, and you weren't there! You didn't even _know_ it was happening! You _never_ know! It is all left to _me_! _I_ work, _I_ pay the bills, _I_ pay for our clothes, our food, _these_!" She grabbed the beer can he'd been clutching, shaking it in disgust when she realized it was empty and throwing it in the sink where it met the others with a clatter. "What would you do if I weren't here? You would _die_ , here in your own filth!" She gestured to the deplorable state of the kitchen and then to my father– his unshaven face, dirty overalls and ragged T-shirt.

I'm not sure how much of her speech my father understood, but he seemed to understand her tone. "A-Amy…" he whispered through his self-induced haze.

"No." Amy shook her head. "I don't want to hear your explanations or apologies. You can't just apologize away the last ten years, and you know it." She finished stuffing her poor mortarboard into the trash can and swept upstairs. That night I could hear her crying through the wall that divided our rooms.

The next morning, Amy seemed to have made up her mind about something. She got up early, tied a bandana around her head, and began to clean the house like she had never cleaned it before. I helped her in all the ways that I could, using cheap soap to scrub the grease off all surfaces in the kitchen, re-fastening boards over broken windows, and beating the ratty carpets outside with a dead apple tree branch.

I worked without an idea of Amy's eventual goal for two days, until I found her folding clothes in her room. This would not have been remarkable except for the fact that instead of putting them back in her dresser, she was putting them in an old duffel bag.

"Are you leaving?" I said. She couldn't leave me! I wasn't done with school… and I couldn't stay here alone with our father.

" _We're_ leaving," Amy said, zipping up the duffel bag. "I know someone with an apartment in the city. We'll stay with him when we get there."

"But… but I'm not done with high school." I had only just finished my first year.

"We'll find you a GED class," Amy said hardly. "I'm not rotting here for another three years."


	3. Family History

Amy slept on the train, her head resting on the window and her duffel bag on her lap. I stared over my bruised knees at my own duffel bag on the floor of the train, wondering how my life had come to this. I was a high school dropout, running away with a sibling barely old enough to be my legal guardian. I thought about my father, alone in the house I realized Amy and I had cleaned so he did not immediately 'die in his own filth.' In addition, she set aside a small percentage of our meager funds and bought enough non-perishable food to feed our father for perhaps two days.

When I expressed concern for him beyond that time, she tossed her head and said, "He's a grown man, and not my responsibility." She then stormed out of the kitchen, her resentment palpable. I wondered for the thousandth time if she also resented me for weighing her down, but quickly pushed the thought aside. She could have left me behind.

A paper sticking out of Amy's bag fluttered as someone traversed the aisle. I glanced down and realized it was an envelope with our address handwritten on it, meaning it was not a bill, it was a letter. Who could be writing to us? I looked at Amy's face, making sure she was still asleep, and slipped the letter out of her bag.

 _Dear Amy,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. By my calculations you just graduated from high school, and you have my congratulations. You may not remember me, because my father, Aaron Maxwell (your father's brother), died when you and Rachael were very young. After his death, my mother and I moved to New York City (do your remember your Aunt Elizabeth?), but she stayed in contact with your family. I regret to inform you that she died of cancer last month and among her things I found a bunch of letters she received from your mother, the latest one being from 1979, saying she was going to leave your father (as well as you and Rachael). I know my mother sent you letters after that, but never heard anything back. I can imagine your father's decline was much like my father's, and for that I am truly sorry. I mean no offense, of course, but I do think your mother was a bit selfish for leaving you two behind with him. I am financially stable, with a good job at a bank, so if you need anything, do not hesitate to contact me at the return address on this letter._

 _Sincerely, Cornell Maxwell_

 _P.S. I also found this old photograph. Perhaps it will help you remember us._

The letter was dated three weeks ago. I wondered when Amy received it, and if she had written back. Did Cornell even know we were coming? The writing was formal, as if to a distant relative rather than a first cousin. He also misspelled my name, so he couldn't know us that well. I couldn't picture his face, or my Uncle Aaron's. I wonder if Amy could.

I found the photograph in the envelope, and held it up to the light. The colors were beginning to fade and the edges were curled, but I could make out the people. There were two couples standing side-by-side, women on the edges, men in the middle. The woman on the left I recognized, with a pang, as my mother. Her golden, stick-straight hair fell around her shoulders, barely reaching the baby she was holding. The baby must have been Amy because I barely recognized the man next to her, my father. He looked… hopeful. And happy. He stood close to his brother, whose craggy features were curled into a smile, but this did not seem to be their natural state. His wife, a tall dark-haired woman, was smiling but looked tired and distracted as she clutched the shoulders of the small boy standing in front of her. On the back of the photo, someone had written, _The proud Maxwell boys and families, September 1970._

"Things got bad soon after that," Amy spoke softly over my shoulder. "The crop failed the following year. He lost his contract with his seed supplier and had to take out some big loans. In five years, he was dead of cirrhosis of the liver. That's when Dad bought the apple orchard."

"I don't remember Uncle Aaron," I said.

"You were only two years old when he died," said Amy. "I barely remember the funeral myself."

I slid the photograph back into the envelope and reread the letter. "What sort of name is _Cornell_?" I said. "Like the university?"

"Aunt Elizabeth named him after her alma mater," Amy said drily. "Reminded her of where she came from– classier people." She said this with a bit of a sneer. "And now her son is already some successful banker."

"Does he know we're coming?"

Amy narrowed her eyes. "No." She pressed her lips together and turned away. "But he gave us an address if we needed him. And we need him."

"I think he was offering, you know, to give us _money_ , when he said–"

"I couldn't stay at the orchard, Rachel."

 _What about me?_


	4. Hello, Cornell

To say Cornell was not expecting us might have been an understatement. It began to rain during the two mile walk from Grand Central Station to the address listed on the envelope, and we were soaking wet as we knocked on his 7th floor apartment in Chelsea at 6 o'clock in the evening. A tall, young man opened the door and stared at us with wide eyes. His dark hair was still combed neatly, but his button-down shirt was untucked and wrinkled and a red tie hung untied around his neck. Amy shifted her feet but looked up unflinchingly.

"Hello, Cornell. I'm your cousin Amy, and this is Rachel," she said, gesturing behind her to me. I stared at my feet.

"Why did you come here?" Cornell said after a minute.

"To get away," said Amy. "We had to get away." _She_ had to get away.

Cornell relented a little, probably thinking of his own father, and let us into his apartment. It was very small, and there was only one bedroom. "I-I suppose you two can sleep on the futon, here," he stuttered, bending to unfold a low wooden couch and producing some spare sheets. "Are you guys hungry? I don't have much food around here, but I suppose there's bread in the kitchen, and a toaster…" he trailed off and waved vaguely to a small kitchen. No one said or did anything for a while. "If you're not hungry, I guess you can just… do whatever. I mean, I have some work to do but my desk is in my bedroom. I haven't gotten the TV to work." He pressed its power button a couple times with no response. "The bathroom is right there next to the kitchen, if you need it." He gestured awkwardly to another door before abruptly turning and shuffling to his bedroom. As soon as he was out of sight, I changed out of my dirty traveling clothes and curled up on one side of the futon under an old quilt. Amy watched me for a minute, then sat down at one of the two chairs at the small dining table. She stared into the gloomy kitchen for a long time, her face thoughtful. I wondered what she was thinking about as I fell asleep.

My eyes snapped open to a dull clatter from the kitchen and a whispered curse. I quickly squeezed my eyes closed again as Cornell came out of his room to investigate. "What're you doing?" he said in a low voice.

I heard Amy whisper quietly, "I don't know. I really, really don't." I heard soft footsteps and the sound of chairs moving on linoleum.

The two of them sat in silence for a while before Cornell said, "What was your plan when you came here?"

"I don't know– I mean, I didn't have one," Amy whispered. She sounded like she might cry.

"How long do you think you'll stay here?"

"I don't know… I thought I could get a job or something and an apartment."

"Do you know how expensive an apartment in the city is? You don't want to live in a tenement."

"I'll find a roommate."

"Where do you plan on working?"

"A restaurant or something. I was a waitress in high school."

There was a pause. "What about Rachel? Did you even let her finish high school?"

"She can get a GED."

"No, no, enroll her in a high school. Let her at least have that."

Amy was very quiet. "I don't know if I can do this. I don't know why I left– no, I do know. I just– just had to get away from him, from that house and that stupid, dead apple orchard. I couldn't take care of him anymore. I mean, I ran that household for _years_ after mom left and he checked out. I worked my _ass_ off providing for us. I had no time for friends, barely any for schoolwork…" she paused and sighed, steadying her shaking voice. "Cornell, my childhood ended when I was 10 years old. I took care of that man and Rachel for eight years while trying to graduate high school and he couldn't even show up to my graduation. He didn't even know it was going on. I felt like my life was ending. If we had stayed, all that would have changed is the length of my shift at Minelli's."

Cornell was silent after this speech. "A friend at work is looking for a roommate. She doesn't live far from here. I'll try to help you two. I admire what you're trying to do, Amy, I really do." The last thing I heard before falling asleep again was a low sniff and the sound of a tissue box being passed.

* * *

I woke before Amy the next morning to find a note on the kitchen table:

 _Gone to work, will be back around 6:30. There is bread on the counter and peanut butter and jelly in the fridge. If you need anything, my work number and address are on a note on the freezer door. -Cornell_.

I found the bread and and looked around for the toaster. As I pushed the lever down to toast two pieces of bread for breakfast, I saw a paper bag next to the stove. I peered inside and saw a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a bag of chips, an apple, and a cup of yogurt. I brought it with me back to the table and sat down to eat my toast.

"It looks like Cornell forgot his lunch when he left for work," said Amy from the futon. She paused and said, "We should bring it to him."

"He would call the apartment if he needed anything," I said. I did't want to barge into Cornell's workplace uninvited, like we already had done to his home.

"He just moved here, and hasn't gotten the phone working," said Amy. "That's why he didn't give us a number in his letter." I must have been asleep for that part. She quickly rose from the futon and changed. I handed her the second piece of toast as she grabbed the paper bag and her purse and headed for the door. "Come on, Rachel. He'd want us to bring him his lunch." If Amy ran away from home so she wouldn't have to take care of someone, why was she suddenly intent on taking care of Cornell? Perhaps she did enjoy taking care of people– if she was properly thanked for her pains.

* * *

Cornell's bank was three blocks away from his apartment. Amy walked briskly and I struggled to keep up. I wondered why I continued to follow her around when all I could do in my mind was criticize her choices. It occurred to me that perhaps I was trying to take care of her as much as she was trying to take care of me. I could make sure she didn't go to far and get herself into trouble.

Amy walked into the lobby of the office building with confidence and smiled sweetly at the secretary, "Hi, I'm looking for Cornell Maxwell? We're his cousins and we're staying with him for a little while and he forgot his lunch." She held up the brown paper bag. The secretary nodded distractedly and directed us to the third floor.

The elevator opened to a mess of cubicles, most of which were empty. Amy looked confused until I pointed out the stream of people exiting a nearby conference room. Amy moved through the crowd, ignoring the stares of the of suited men and lingered by the doorway, looking for Cornell.

"Um, excuse me?" she said to the last person to exit the room. "Where's Cornell Maxwell?"

"I think I saw him go into the bathroom," the suit pointed down the hall. Thankfully (I was not looking forward to lingering awkwardly in front of another door), Cornell exited just then, followed by a tall, olive-skinned man of about fifty with heavy eyebrows and thick salt-and-pepper hair. Cornell looked considerably nervous, unbuttoning and then rebutting his jacket as he spoke.

"All right, all right, I'll take care of it," he muttered, looking very closely at his shoes.

"You'd better, college boy," the man said before storming off towards the elevator.

Cornell jumped as Amy approached him. "W-what are you doing here?" he said.

"You forgot your lunch," said Amy, proudly holding out the brown paper bag.

"What– I mean, thanks, I guess," Cornell took the bag with shaking hands, although he didn't look particularly hungry. He saw me staring closely at his face and hastily said, "Sorry, sorry, my… boss is giving me a hard time." He tried to flash a smile at Amy. "I am definitely not giving _you_ any more addresses."

There was a beat of awkward silence before Amy said, "Well, we'd better be going…" As if we had something important to do.

* * *

On the way back to Cornell's apartment Amy remarked, "Cornell's boss sure looked mean."

"I don't think that was his boss, Amy."

"What? Why wouldn't that be his boss?"

Oh, Amy, a multitude of reasons. "I don't think Cornell's boss would call him 'college boy.'"


	5. New Friends

Luckily, the next few weeks became too busy for Amy to bother Cornell at work anymore. We were introduced to Alice, the assistant of an executive at Cornell's bank, and her small two-bedroom apartment. We might have moved in immediately and gotten out of Cornell's way but Amy refused to move until she had secured a job and could reliably contribute to the rent. Eventually, she found two– one as a barista at a coffee shop during the day and one as a restaurant hostess in the evening. As she was job hunting, I found my way to the local public high school and picked up paperwork so I could enroll in the tenth grade as well as a job application at the school store. The day before we finally moved out was a Friday, and that evening Cornell was preparing to go out, having been invited to the local bar with some more senior colleagues for the first time.

After nervously combing his hair in front of the bathroom mirror for the third time, he glanced at us one last time and said, "Okay, I'll be back around midnight or one. I will call you on the newly functional phone," he gestured rather grandly to the sad-looking appliance, "if anything unexpected arises." Amy and I nodded, and after he left finished gathering our things, which had slowly spread out around the apartment over time. I had just entered the bathroom to brush my teeth when there was a knock at the door.

"I wonder if Cornell forgot something…" said Amy, moving towards the door.

"Amy, check the peephole first–" I started, but it was too late. I rounded the corner and my heart turned cold when I saw the man Cornell had described as his "boss" standing in the doorway. He looked surprised to see Amy (whom I doubt he remembered from the office) and angry that she was not Cornell.

"Where is… Mr. Maxwell?" he said. He seemed reluctant to use Cornell's proper title.

"Not here, but we're his cousins. What do you need?" Amy said brightly. I hung back far behind her, keeping my head down and looking at the man from the corner of my eye.

The man frowned, deciding whether Amy could help him or not. "No," he said abruptly. "I will come back when… _Mr. Maxwell_ is here." He turned on his heel and stalked down the hall.

* * *

When Cornell returned, slightly drunk, I was curled up on the futon and Amy was sitting beside me with a book.

"You guys okay?" he said carelessly.

Amy looked up. "Your boss came by," she said innocently.

Cornell looked confused. "My boss?"

"Yes, the man you were talking to when we came by with your lunch."

"What!" Cornell suddenly became very pale and moved towards the phone, fumbling in his wallet for a business card. "What- what's the date?"

"July 15th," Amy supplied.

"Shit. Shit shit shit…" Cornell continued muttering expletives under his breath as he located the card and punched in the number. He held the phone to his ear and moved to his room, stretching the cord to its maximum in order to obtain some privacy in the small apartment. Even so, the thin walls did little to achieve this end– Amy and I could hear Cornell through the wall, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I forgot and went out… I will meet you tomorrow, I promise– no, I swear. … Yes, yes, usual time. … No! Nothing! … No, I won't, I would never…" The conversation continued long into the night, and neither Amy or I heard its end before we fell asleep.

* * *

We moved out of Cornell's apartment the next day and into Alice's small two-bedroom apartment a few blocks away. Alice was genuinely glad to have us as roommates, unlike Cornell had been, and acted as a sort of older sister to us. I don't know how Amy felt about her position being usurped, but I became very close to Alice. Our quiet tempers were compatible, and she was a steady influence for me next to the rather capricious Amy.

I began 10th grade that fall at the public school and Amy continued to work, contributing a portion of her salary to rent and groceries. We settled into a routine, one that continued and remained pretty consistent for the next three years. Amy seemed to forget all about our life on the orchard, and I rarely brought it up. I wrote to our father occasionally, telling him where we had gone and what we were doing, but never received any response. I never told Amy about these letters, thinking she might be angry at me for trying to maintain a connection with our old life.

Amy lost her hostess job after one year, but was promoted to assistant manager at the coffee shop. During my junior year, I began doing research on local colleges and universities as well as scholarships and student loan opportunities. In addition to working at the school store, I bussed tables at a local restaurant and convinced Amy to set aside another portion of her wages for my continuing education. She grudgingly agreed, but not before suggesting I apply for a job as an assistant at Cornell's bank, like Alice. I ignored her, determined to rise above my origins as long as I was uprooted from them. At times I felt residual resentment towards Amy for uprooting me from our old farm and dragging me into this life in the city I never wanted. Then I received an acceptance letter to New York University's class of 1994, and awards from two different scholarship funds. I would have a fair amount of student debt, but I would go to college. All resentment evaporated as I remembered all the opportunities Amy's decision had created for me, even if that hadn't been her intent.

Amy and Alice came home from work to find me in tears of joy, clutching the letter in my hand and carefully stroking the purple university seal with my thumb. Alice squealed and hugged me, tearing up a little herself. She had lacked the motivation to apply for college when she was in high school, but was endlessly proud of my scholarly endeavors and determination.

"Rachel, this is just so amazing!" she said when she could speak. "And you'll be just a subway ride away!" She teared up and hugged me again, and I squeezed her back. Amy remained reticent, a nervous smile on her face.

"I'm proud of you, Rachel," she said.

I smiled back at her, "Thank you." The wounds from our passive-aggressive argument over my higher education still smarted, but were somewhat healed by her words. That evening, we called Cornell with the news and he invited the three of us over for a celebratory dinner. Alice declined in favor of a friend's bachelorette party, but Amy and I agreed and volunteered to bring a loaf of bread. In our eagerness, we left Alice's apartment earlier than we needed to and, loaf of sourdough in hand, arrived at Cornell's building thirty minutes before we said we would. Soon after stepping out of the elevator, we saw a young man exiting Cornell's apartment. He was tall with dark hair and a square jaw. He flashed a smile at Amy as we passed him.

She readily returned it and, to my horror, spoke to him. "So you know Cornell?"

"Yes, we are… friends," the man said. He had a slight accent, although I couldn't identify it.

"We're his cousins," Amy said.

 _Oh, Amy, must you introduce us to every one of Cornell's 'friends?'_

"I'm Amy, and this is Rachel." She extended her hand, still smiling. The man took it gently and raised it to his lips, giving her fingers a gallant kiss.

"I am Angelo," he said. "And I hope to see you again… Amy." I found the display tacky, but Amy's eyes followed Angelo as he passed us. He stepped into the elevator and turned around, waving at Amy again as the doors closed.

Needless to say, Amy entered Cornell's apartment without knocking in an amazing mood. Cornell, used to Amy's indelicacy, greeted me first with a warm smile and a hug. "Congratulations, Rachel," he said, squeezing my shoulders. "You will do amazing things there."

"Yes, Rachel's going to college, it's so exciting," Amy said quickly. "Cornell, you never told us about your friend Angelo!"

Cornell looked at her sharply, "You met Angelo?" His eyes narrowed and he looked tense, but Amy didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, he said he was a friend of yours," she said brightly.

"Yes, he is a… friend," Cornell said carefully. Both of them seemed oddly reluctant to admit this friendship. Amy continued to press for details about Angelo, but Cornell would only answer in monosyllables and quickly turned the conversation back to me. Amy eventually dropped the subject, and Cornell and I forgot about Angelo over dinner. However, she was unusually quiet during the walk back home.


	6. Things Unsaid

If Amy had been flighty and distracted before, she became doubly so in the next couple of months. She stayed out later, often not returning to the apartment until after I was asleep, and would not tell me where she'd been. Alice didn't seem concerned and didn't acknowledge the change. But then, Amy was 21 and not technically Alice's responsibility. My high school graduation was attended by a quietly proud Cornell and an emotional Alice. Amy arrived in the middle of the ceremony, as the L's were being announced, with smudged lipstick and tangled hair. Afterwards, she presented me with a bouquet of flowers originally bought by Alice and gave me a tight, if quick, hug.

That summer, I saw even less of Amy, but I attributed most of it to me being busy working double shifts at the restaurant to pay for used college textbooks and preoccupation with university paperwork and class registration. When she was home, Amy would often linger by the phone, diving to pick it up the second it rang, handing it off to me or Alice if it wasn't for her, or staying on the line for hours talking quietly, a ridiculous grin plastered on her face. I didn't like to think too hard about who she was talking to. I didn't want to admit to myself that I knew.

Alice and Amy helped me move into my dorm room in August, arranging and rearranging my few possessions in the small room and making fair weather friends with my roommate and her family. Outside the residence hall I thanked Alice profusely for her friendship and all her help over the past three years.

In response, Alice gave me a long, tight hug and said, "I am so, so proud of you, Rachel. You have been a wonderful friend to me, too, you know. I have loved sharing my apartment with you… and your sister." She nodded behind me to Amy, who did not seem to be paying attention.

I hugged Alice again and said quietly, next to her ear, "Look after Amy, will you?" I felt her nod her head into my shoulder and gave her one last squeeze before releasing her. I hugged Amy one last time and then waved goodbye as they walked towards the subway station and I headed back into the residence hall.

* * *

Every Friday, I waited in 45 minute lines to use the hall phone to call Alice. If it was in fact Alice who picked up, she would tell me Amy was out at some unknown location but overall seemed stable. If Amy picked up, I would note the momentary disappointment in her voice before she shook it off and asked me a couple perfunctory questions before handing the phone to Alice. Sometimes it occurred to me to call Cornell, but I figured he would get most news from Alice, anyway. However, one evening in early November I answered a knock on the door to a girl who lived across the hall.

"Are you Rachel Maxwell?" she said.

"Yes."

"The hall phone rang, and it's for you. I think he said he was your cousin?" Confused, because Cornell had never called me before, I nodded and rose to answer the phone.

"Hello, Rachel?" Cornell said. Is voice was pitched higher than usual and it put me on edge.

"Yes," I said.

"Uhh, this might be a weird thing to ask you, and I don't know if you know the answer, but… is Amy seeing anyone?" My stomach froze. I couldn't answer his question honestly without being honest with myself, as well.

"Yes, I think so," I finally answered.

There was a long pause before Cornell said, "Do you think you know _who_ she's seeing?"

"I don't know. Maybe," I hesitated to give a straight answer. After all, I shouldn't _assume_ she was seeing the suspicious character, Angelo. Amy was smarter than that, right? She could have met some cute fellow barista.

As if I really believed any of that.

"You know, don't you," Cornell said, his voice heavy.

"So do you," I said. There was a long, awkward silence. I heard feet shifting behind me and noticed a line of girls forming behind me to use the phone.

"Okay, well, I guess I just wanted to confirm," Cornell finally said.

 _Because you didn't want to believe it, either,_ I thought. "Right," I said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

* * *

The next time I spoke to Cornell was at his house a few weeks later at Thanksgiving when Alice and I were over for dinner. Amy was invited but, of course, was late. When she finally arrived in a black dress rather short for Thanksgiving dinner, Cornell was reheating the gravy and Alice was taking the mashed potatoes out of the fridge. I was washing the dishes from dinner and resisted the urge to glare at Amy for her unexcused lateness and her inappropriate dress, instead giving the plate I was working on an especially vigorous scrubbing. As Alice brought Amy a plate of reheated turkey and potatoes, Cornell pulled me away from them, into his bedroom

"Rachel, we both know who Amy is seeing," he said tightly, staring intently at my face. He looked angry, mostly, but also scared. I said nothing. "She needs to stop seeing him," he said. "Can you make her stop?"

"Why does she need to stop seeing him?" I said, looking at Cornell out of the corner of my eye. I did not at all want to hear his answer, but I couldn't ask Amy to do something for me without a reason.

Cornell was staring anywhere but my face and keeping his face carefully blank. "She just has to stop, okay, Rachel?"

"She's not going to do it," I said accusingly. Why was Cornell being so cagey?

Cornell looked angry, "Just tell her, Rachel! It's for her own good." He abruptly stood and stalked out of the bedroom. I didn't turn my head as he exited. My insides felt like they were numb. Cornell's reticence and anger were confirming my fears. Angelo was dangerous, I was sure of it.

* * *

To my surprise, Amy walked home with me and Alice that evening. I felt conflicted, at once glad she was not out at an unknown location with unknown characters, but frustrated that I now had no excuse not to talk to her. I laid awake in bed that night, unable to concentrate on a novel while waiting for Amy to join me in our room. I traced the cracks in the ceiling with my eyes, which I found sinister no matter what shape they took in my brain. When Amy finally entered after hours running up our phone bill, my resolve wavered. Amy's moodiness made it difficult to have a conversation with her that she didn't want to have. She was liable to storm out of the room in sudden anger and avoid it all together. Judging by how little time she spent at home these days, she could probably storm out of the apartment entirely and have somewhere to go.

After several deep breaths, I turned towards Amy's bed, watching her doodle absently in a notebook. "Amy?" I said quietly.

"What," she said. She kept her eyes on the notebook, a small, blithe smile on her lips.

"You know…the guy you've been seeing?"

"Yeah." She still did not look up.

"I just…are you sure…about him?" That is not what I meant to say. I already knew her answer.

"Yes," she said. "He's perfect, absolutely perfect."

Let me try again. "I mean…are you sure he's…safe?"

Amy looked up sharply. "What do you mean am I sure he's safe?" she said, a little too loudly. "Of course he's _safe_. He's _perfect_."

I rapidly backtracked. "It's Cornell's…friend Angelo, right?" _Coward_ , I said to myself.

Amy blushed and a silly smile appeared on her face. " _Yes_ , of course it is," she said. I opened my mouth to respond but she continued gushing. "Oh you only met him that one time, Rachel… what was it, six months ago? It feels like I've known him _forever_ , but also like we haven't had nearly enough time together. Did you know, that _very next week_ he found me at my work and asked for my number? And then the _next_ week he called me and he took me to a private table in the back of this really nice restaurant and we had a candlelit dinner and Rachel it was _so_ romantic! We went out like that every week for a _month_ and, Rachel, I _fell_ for him! It's been less than a year and he told me he loves me and wants me to move in with him but is dad owns his apartment and is really strict about who stays there but he's working on it and we're _so close_ and I _can't wait_. I just want to spend every minute of every day with him, Rachel!"

I blinked rapidly, trying to re-collect my thoughts after this wild speech. "But–but, do you know anything about his…life outside of your relationship? Like, what does he do for a living?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Oh, Rachel, of course I do! His father is preparing him to run the family business."

I waited for her to elaborate. When she simply returned to doodling, I said, "What is the family business?"

"I don't know," Amy said nonchalantly. "Angelo says it would probably bore me."

And she didn't find that suspicious? Unable to put it off any longer, I said, "Amy, Cornell thinks Angelo is dangerous. He–we–think it might be good if you…stopped seeing each other."

The air in the room became very still.

Amy looked at me thunderously. Her mouth was twisted into a scowl and her eyes were slits. "And who are you or Cornell to tell me what to do?" she said, raising her voice. "I'm my own person. I'm nearly 22 and capable of making decisions for myself. You and Cornell are just _jealous_. You two try to find happiness by obsessing over school and work but when I actually find happiness in someone else you just want to ruin it for me!"

Desperate, I tried to plead with her. "Amy, Cornell is just scared for you! He knows something about Angelo that we don't, I'm telling you! Please listen, we're trying to protect you!"

"I know Angelo better than either of you!" Amy said. "And who are you to try and protect me, Rachel– you're my little sister, for Christ's sake. I've been taking care of _you_ since we were kids, I think I know how to take care of myself."

Ignoring her argument against my age, I said, "Cornell knew Angelo first, Amy! Please, there's something you don't know!"

"Oh, and I suppose you _do_ know?" Amy sneered.

I was quiet. "No, I don't," I said. But I had heard enough in Cornell's voice over the phone and seen enough in his eyes that night to be absolutely terrified.

Amy watched me shrink in on myself with spiteful glee. "Of course you don't," she said. "Because there's nothing to know." With that, she flung her notebook onto the table between our beds and turned off the light, plunging us into darkness.

* * *

I couldn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the sinister shapes in the ceiling descending onto me from the blackness, or Angelo's devilishly handsome face smiling, revealing rows of sharpened teeth. As our bedside clock blinked its way to 3 a.m., I reached over to the bedside lamp and pulled the chain, sure I wouldn't wake Amy. I stared at her sleeping form, wondering how I could make her see reason. My eyes drifted towards the notebook and pen on the table. As if bidden to do so by forces beyond my control, my arm reached out and silently picked it up. Trying not to think too hard about what I was doing, I opened it to the first page.

It appeared as though Amy had at one point tried to keep a diary. The first entry was dated about a year ago. The entry was less than a paragraph long, and as I flipped through the next couple entries, I realized it was by far the longest one. I lightly skimmed over Amy's words, but honestly did not find them very interesting. Typical of Amy, it was mostly complaints about me or her job and comments on her shallow dissatisfaction with her life. The journal entries petered out after less than two months, and on the next page was writing I knew to be much more recent. In the middle, Angelo's name was written in bubble letters, sitting on a roughly drawn horizon and surrounded by a rising sun. The rest of the page was covered in similar drawings, all equally sappy and ridiculous. Three pages later, my heart jumped to my mouth when I saw written in flowery cursive, _Mrs. Amy Verrano_. This was rewritten on the same page at least a dozen more times, in different styles and embellished with various borders of hearts or flowers, as well as on the two following pages. My heart was pounding in my ears and I quickly shut the notebook and replaced it carefully as I'd found it. I turned off the light and curled in on myself, painfully squeezing my eyes shut and hoping that sleep would take me away from the terrifying truth that Amy was more deeply involved with Angelo than Cornell or I had thought, and I didn't think there was anything we could do about it.


	7. Radio Silence

**First of all, big thanks to the few of you who have favorited and followed this story I thought no one would read– it means so much!**

 **And special thanks to my reviewers: NurfHurdur and I. D. Gr, you guys have been so kind and supportive and I can't thank you enough.**

* * *

Amy was not in her bed when I woke up the next morning. Alice and I spent a quiet weekend before I went back to school, and I saw very little of Amy. In the brief moments we saw each other, we avoided eye contact. Christmas was a similar dismal affair. On December 25, Alice gave me a check to spend on next semester's textbooks.

"Half of it's from Amy," she told me with a forced smile.

I looked under the plastic Christmas tree at the jewelry box I had gotten for Amy, wrapping untouched.

"I'm sure she'll be by sometime…" Alice said.

I looked at my hands. Amy had not picked up the phone once when I called between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Alice told me she was barely in the apartment. Cornell, Alice, and I ate Christmas dinner in silence, staring at the empty place setting. Amy never felt so distant. And I was never so afraid for her.

* * *

Soon after returning to school, I got a call from Alice.

"Amy's moving out," she said woodenly.

"Do you know where she went?" I already knew Alice's answer.

"No, she didn't say."

Of course not. God knew where Angelo lived.

"That's not it," Alice said after a pause.

"What is it?"

"My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's," Alice said quietly. "And I can't afford this apartment without Amy. I'm moving back to New Jersey in a few weeks. I'm really sorry, Rachel."

I took a deep breath, trying to contain my emotions.

"Cornell got a raise and will take the apartment. I just have to go home, Rachel. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I said. But I still hated to see her go.

"I don't know how to contact Amy," Alice continued. "But please let me know if you hear from her. I'll leave my new number with Cornell."

I nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll hear from her." But I knew I couldn't hope for that.

* * *

After remaining at school during spring break to do research with a sociology professor, I wearily returned to the apartment in late May, hoping for a quiet summer to be spent bussing tables and not worrying about Amy. But worry and anxiety seemed to permeate the walls of the apartment anyway. Cornell worked long hours at the bank, and even when he was home, was nervous and quiet. Every evening, he checked the answering machine, asked if anyone had called, and practically ran to the phone every time it rang. I became increasingly anxious too, and I hoped it was for the same reason. I heard nothing from or about Amy. No calls, no letters. I didn't know where she had gone or what she was doing or with whom, if she was still working and where. I even visited the coffee shop where she used to work, only to be disappointed to find out she had quit before the New Year.

"Where could she have gone! Why won't she _tell_ us," I cried to Cornell that evening. I had not seen or spoken to Amy in six months, since Christmas. I knew absolutely nothing about her life, and she was uninterested in mine.

Cornell said nothing, his face wooden. He had not mentioned Angelo to me since Thanksgiving, but I recognized the fear in his eyes.

"She's so _selfish_! She never thinks of anyone but herself! She didn't think about my feelings, my friends, or my education when she brought me here, _she_ had to get away, _she_ was unsatisfied with her life. She thought she was taking care of me, but I was just dragged along in her quest to find some sort of 'meaning' for herself, and once she found it–or thought she found it–she just… left." My voice was about to crack and my throat felt tight. I curled up on the couch and squeezed my burning eyes shut.

I felt Cornell's hand on my shoulder.

"How could she leave us?" I whispered. "How could she leave me?" I heard Cornell pick up a tissue box, and I remembered that first night in New York, when Amy had broken down in front of Cornell back in his old apartment, facing the reality of her decision for the first time. The memory was so vivid I began sobbing, and found myself unable to stop.

When I finally regained control, I looked up at Cornell's serious face with red eyes and murmured, "I'm scared for her, Cornell."

Cornell just hugged me tighter, squeezing me into his chest. And even though his body was warm against mine, my blood was cold in my veins.

* * *

By July, I had almost given up on ever hearing from Amy again when I finally received a letter from her. There was no return address, but her handwriting on the heavy envelope was unmistakable. Two minutes of frantic tearing later, I slapped its contents on the dining room table in front of a startled Cornell. He stared at the thick white card without saying anything.

"A wedding invitation," I said irritably, my anxiety for her temporarily overridden by anger. "The nerve of her! She doesn't contact us for months and then _this_!"

"When?" was Cornell's only response the rest of him seemed frozen.

"4 weeks from now! They're registered at some fancy place on the east side." I glared out the window, arms crossed. _Amy, could you think of someone besides yourself for just one_ second _?_

In two minutes, my anger burned itself out and I slumped into a chair, sighing in defeat. Of course she couldn't. When had she ever done anything different?

My disappointment in Amy again turned into fear that night, when Cornell appeared in my bedroom doorway, staring at the wall in thought. I looked at him for a long time in nervous apprehension, waiting for him to speak. He finally moved and sat on the cold sheets of Amy's bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

"Rachel, I have a confession to make," he finally said. "A little over three years ago, when I had just started working at the bank, I started noticing some inconsistencies and suspicious transactions in some of accounts. I froze the accounts and investigated, but before I could do anything…someone approached me." He hesitated. "Rachel, do you remember that man you and Amy saw when you brought me my lunch, all those years ago?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

Cornell took a shaky breath. "His name is Alessandro Verrano."

 _Verrano._ The writing in Amy's diary flashed in my memory. I clenched my hands into fists, sure my fingers would be shaking if I opened them.

"He was laundering money through the bank," Cornell said. "A lot of it."

"How did he make it?" I almost didn't want to know.

"Heroin. And cocaine," Cornell said in a low voice. "It's kind of his…family business."

Amy's words about Angelo rang again in my ears, _His father is preparing him to run the family business._ My throat felt very tight and my breath was shallow.

"Anyway, he… _bribed_ me to…let the suspicious transactions slide…to let him continue laundering money. And…I _took_ it, Rachel. He told me he could have me fired, that he could make me unemployable in the banking industry." Cornell was standing now, wringing his hands and shifting uncomfortably. "And I was _scared_ , so I just did it! And suddenly, he needed another favor, needed me to cover something up, and then another thing and another and suddenly I was like one of their employees! I was lying to my bosses, to my coworkers–I'm still lying to them–and…oh it's just a big awful mess!" Cornell collapsed onto the bed, lying onto his back and running his hands over his face. "And it used to be that Alessandro himself came here when they wanted something–you met him that one time–he came while I was out," Cornell said, his voice cracking. "But recently it's been his son."

 _Angelo._ My mind went blank for a few minutes as all the pieces fell into place. Then my mind began racing, desperately searching for solutions. But in the end, there was only one answer to this problem. "Go to the police," I said. I had to remind myself to blink. I gave my head a quick shake and stood up. I pulled Cornell upright and looked into his eyes. "Cornell, you have to go to the police!"

"What! No, they said…they said…"

"Well of course they would say that! Because they don't _want_ you to go to the police. But they can't know everything. They just can't. Tell the police what you know about this…'family business.' I'm sure they're investigating the family, I'm sure they want to know." I wondered if he believed me. _I_ didn't believe me.

Cornell looked down and took several deep breaths and then, to my disbelief, nodded. "Yeah. Yes, you're right. I will go to the police. I have…evidence. Printouts. Account names. Records. I. Can go to the police."

He raised his head again to meet my eyes. But we each stared into uncertainty.


	8. Changes

The wedding took place in a small Catholic church I had never heard of in a part of the city I had never been to. After getting off at the wrong subway stop and becoming lost for several blocks, Cornell and I slipped into seats at the back of the church. Most of the pews were full, although I recognized exactly no one. I wondered how many of them Amy knew. She'd only known Angelo for 14 months and she was _marrying_ him. A couple people nodded absently at Cornell, who only jerked his head rigidly in response. He stared blankly ahead while we waited for the ceremony to start. I tried to copy him, but my eyes couldn't help wandering.

 _These are mobsters,_ I thought. _Criminals. What am I doing here? What is_ Amy _doing here? How did we get ourselves involved in this mess?_ I was forced to devote my energy to breathing normally and making sure my face remained studiously blank. But my palms still left sweaty handprints on the bench beside me.

A hunched pianist banged out Wagner's march and the ceremony began with a small dark-haired flower girl toddling down the aisle scattering rose petals around with chubby hands. A slightly older boy in a rumpled suit followed, carrying the rings on a plush velvet pillow. I felt a stab of resentment at the entrance of the bridesmaids (although I did not envy their lurid yellow gowns). I could admit that Amy and I had grown apart and I disapproved of her choice of husband, I couldn't help feeling slighted for being passed over as a bridesmaid. Amy entered last, infuriatingly on the arm of a man I didn't recognize, in a very flattering white dress decorated with fine white lace. The ceremony was not that long, but the way Amy was leaning towards Angelo, one would have thought it was the longest wait in the world. I did not have a good view of Angelo's face, but part of me hoped for Amy's sake he was as eager to marry her as she was to marry him. Of course, another part of me wished he did not want to marry her at all, and would call off the wedding right then and there so we would never have to see him and his family ever again.

At the reception, held in a private courtyard buried in a mess of apartment buildings near the church, I stared at my wine glass (no one had bothered me about my age) and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. Loud conversations were held around me and I did my best to tune them out. Cornell was trying to act more normal, but I noticed his hands gripping the tablecloth. I had not seen Angelo's father yet, but I was sure he was here and neither of us wanted to see him. We were currently in the process of betraying him.

Eventually I decided I should try and find Amy, although I was not sure what to say to her. Anger still burned in my stomach when I thought of all those months I'd spent with no word from her, when she'd abruptly left me and Alice without even a goodbye. But if I expressed any of this to her face, she was sure to lash out at me and cause a scene, and perhaps draw the attention of her father-in-law. The safest course of action was probably appeasement. I only hoped it would be sufficiently sincere.

Once I began looking for her, I found her quite easily– her blonde hair and blue eyes standing out in the sea of dark-haired well-wishers. She was in the middle of a crowd of women fawning over her dress and heaping sugary congratulations on her eager ears. I hung back until they had dispersed and she was somewhat alone, and then slowly approached.

"Rachel!" She threw herself at me as soon as she saw me. I stepped backwards, then hesitantly returned her embrace. "I haven't seen you in _forever_ ," she gushed.

 _That didn't have to be the case,_ I thought bitterly. _You knew how to contact me, you just didn't._

My thoughts must have been clear on my face, because she immediately began making excuses. "I wanted to call you, I swear! I just…never had the time."

 _Yeah, right._ Anger at her apathy flared up again, and I had trouble of thinking of positive things to say.

"Rachel?" Amy said eventually.

I blinked. "Uh, congratulations, Amy!" I said the first positive statement that had come to mind. People said that at weddings, didn't they? She smiled and simpered and hugged me again. There was another pause. She was waiting for me to say something else. "So, um, what have you been doing?" I genuinely wanted to know, but was annoyed that I had to ask the question in the first place.

Amy squealed and began gushing again. "Oh, Angelo's been keeping me so busy! His family makes enough money so I don't have to work, really, and I go shopping a lot." She giggled and angled her head so I could admire her expensive earrings and matching necklace. "But sometimes Angelo has me do some bookkeeping for the family business. You know, keeping track of their imports and exports." She smirked. "See Rachel, it's not suspicious at all." So she remembered our argument all those months ago. I remembered too, and I still seethed at her stubbornness. She didn't even know _what_ they were importing and exporting. I glanced around, but people seemed more interested dancing to the catchy song the live band was playing than our conversation.

"It's not that simple, Amy," I said, lowering my voice slightly. "You don't know what you're getting into!"

Amy rolled her eyes in disgust. "Not this again. Rachel, the Verranos are not dangerous. I don't know why you keep insisting that they are! Just relax, okay? I know what I'm doing. I love and trust Angelo, and he loves and trusts me. He would never put me in danger or lie to me about what he does for a living!"

"But Amy, you don't understand–"

"No, _you_ don't understand, Rachel. I have found _love_ , true love. And I am not going to throw it away over your silly paranoia! Please just stop trying to undermine my relationship, my entire life!" She glared at me, panting.

I nearly screamed with frustration. Why was Amy so stubborn? Why couldn't I communicate to her the danger she was in? Would she even listen if I could get the words out? I stuttered and searched frantically for words. "I'm not trying to do any of that, Amy, please listen to me," I said as calmly as possible. "And I'm not paranoid! You _are_ in danger." Uttering those words out loud caused a stab of fear to course through me. The Verranos were dangerous. There was no doubt. She _had_ to recognize this, she just had to.

My heart fell as Amy scoffed at my desperate words. "Stop it, Rachel, okay? Just be happy for me on my _wedding day_ and stop bothering me about your crazy theories about my husband's family." I opened my mouth to protest but she turned on her heel and strode towards the dance floor, picking up her husband and clutching at his elbow possessively.

I returned the table where Cornell was still standing stiffly. "Well that went well," I muttered.

Cornell picked at the tablecloth in silence. I noted that Cornell often fell silent when he was scared.

* * *

We left the reception rather early, just after the towering white cake had been cut. It looked to me like red velvet, but I didn't have any. I wasn't in the mood for cake. Cornell and I spoke Amy long enough to bid halfhearted goodbyes before making our way back to the subway. It was the last time either of us spoke to Amy in a long time. We received occasional letters from her over the next three years, but they did not come in reliable intervals, and none of the letters had return addresses. As far as content was concerned, Amy wrote of little besides shopping and socializing with the many girlfriends she had made among Angelo's sisters and cousins. Between letters, Cornell and I pointedly avoided the subject of Amy when we were at the apartment together, and few of my friends at college knew I had a sister.

For the most part, my brother-in-law's family was pushed to the back of my mind while I was at college. Although I was behind Cornell's decision to inform on the Verranos, I left the actual informing to him. After all, he handled the paperwork and records that proved we had valuable information. This left me free to focus on my education. In fact, I developed a habit of studying to distract myself from my relationship with Amy. At the beginning of my sophomore year, I was about to declare a major in sociology, but a required science course awakened my interest in engineering. By the end of my second year, my imagined career path had shifted and I found myself immersed in science and technology. I loved the logic of the subject and the challenges it presented. I discovered in myself a talent for working with machinery and technology, particularly in making makeshift parts out of common household items. I grew to love spending time in machine shops and STEM lab, and as one of the only women in my field of study and close to the top of my class, found it relatively easy to distinguish myself in the department.

So it happened that towards the end of my senior year, the university saw fit to present me with an achievement award as a woman in science and technology. Someone discovered my somewhat dramatic backstory–product of a poor and uneducated family in rural upstate–and I was interviewed for the university newspaper. I was very careful to make no mention of Amy or her marriage in the interview, and was made eternally thankful for this decision when the article was published in a city-wide paper as well. I received calls from Cornell, who sounded more excited than stressed for once, and Alice, who told me she had cut out the article and displayed it on her fridge. The article mentioned the date and location of New York University's commencement ceremony for the class of 1994, and so it was that Amy was present alongside Cornell when I graduated from college.

* * *

The ceremony was long and exceedingly dull, but by the time it was over I was happy almost to the point of tears. All my years of work and worrying and the debt I was going into was worth it, at that moment. I finally felt that I had accomplished something _real_. Cornell used up nearly a whole roll of film capturing my smile, and most of another with pictures of me and Amy, me and him, and a few of all three of us taken by a helpful stranger. Alice, whose mother's condition was deteriorating, was regrettably absent, but Cornell promised to get the film developed as soon as he could and send her the pictures.

"She really, really wishes she could be here," Cornell said, winding the camera for a final time.

"I know, she called me, too," I said, re-adjusting my cap for one last picture.

"It's too bad, oh, this is so exciting!" Amy said blithely. I narrowed my eyes and pretended to be more focused on my cap. My sister had been uncharacteristically excited for an event only peripherally affecting her, and I was becoming suspicious. I was doubtful she attended my graduation solely to congratulate me and support my accomplishments.

"Yes, thanks again for coming, Amy," I said, giving her another perfunctory smile.

"Well, this is a big deal for you, Rachel," she said, grinning innocently. I smiled again and pulled her close for the picture.

Cornell's camera flashed and I desperately hoped my smile looked genuine. My mind was racing again. Why had Amy come? What was her ulterior motive?

"Speaking of big deals," Amy continued after the picture. "I have some exciting news of my own."

 _Here it is._

"Angelo and I are having a baby!"

 _Oh, no._


	9. The Calm

My face felt numb. Amy looked between me and Cornell expectantly. Cornell recovered first.

"That's wonderful, Amy," he said. A patently fake smile spread across his face. "When are you due?"

"December, after Christmas," said Amy. "Angelo and I are planning a christening in early April at the same church where we were married." Amy glanced at her watch and jumped. "Oh, Mary said she would pick me up down the block in five minutes." Neither of us knew who Mary was, and we didn't ask. Amy hugged me quickly and departed after some final offhand congratulations.

Cornell watched her trot down the street, his features contracted with worry.

"Everything will be fine," I said. As usual, I was hoping to convince myself as much as I wanted to convince him.

* * *

To my continued surprise, everything _was_ fine for a month after that. And the next month. And the next. Amy sent semi-regular letters containing vague updates about her pregnancy and life of shopping and cocktail parties. I found a job at an engineering lab at the City University of New York. Cornell kept his head down at the bank and continued to slip evidence of the Verrano's money laundering and fraud to the police. I convinced myself the police were building a solid case against the family. As I said at my graduation, everything was fine.

Until, of course, it wasn't.

The birth announcement ( _It's a boy!_ ) in the first week of 1995 came with the date of the christening on April 2nd. I steeled myself to attend, even though I wanted nothing less than to spend another day surrounded by a family of criminals. Cornell was strangely reluctant to attend. The eventing before the event, as I sat at the dining room table tinkering with a broken toaster oven, he sat down across from me and begged me not to go.

I laid down my screwdriver and looked up at him irritably. "Why?"

"Just– just don't, okay?" he wheedled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"I'm going, Cornell," I said, turning my attention back to the toaster. "I'm not going to let her become completely estranged. She's the only family I have left."

"What about me?" Cornell sounded more offended than I believed he had the right to be. He hadn't even wanted us to come to New York in the first place.

"My only _immediate_ family," I amended.

"It'll be dangerous," Cornell said.

"The wedding was dangerous. But we were okay."

"But– but maybe you won't be this time." Something in Cornell's voice caught my attention and my head snapped up.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

Cornell slumped in his seat. "They know," he murmured.

My pulse thumped loudly through my ears. "What do they know?" I demanded.

"I don't know!" Cornell despaired, putting his head in his hands. "Mr. Verrano–Angelo's father–sent me this." He handed me an envelope.

I took it and lifted the flap. On the inside of the envelope was scrawled the words, _Your services are no longer required._

"They know there's a mole, and they're cutting people off outside the family," Cornell said. "They're suspicious and paranoid. Don't go to the christening."

I was quiet for a minute, thinking about the ominous message and what could happen to us if the Verranos found out what we were doing. "Okay. I won't go," I said.

But that night I couldn't sleep. Angelo's father didn't like Amy, at least I didn't think so. He had been reluctant to let her move in with Angelo, hadn't he? Had he accepted her as part of the family? Did he suspect _she_ was the mole? I felt again my old instinct to protect Amy from her foolish decisions. I had to see her tomorrow, just to make sure she would be okay.


	10. The Storm

I left the apartment early, leaving a note for Cornell when he woke up.

 _I have to go to the Christening_. _I have to make sure she'll be okay. She can't take the blame for what we've done._ –– _Rachel_

I looked up at the grey sky as I left the building and pulled my brown coat tighter over my shoulders. _It looks like rain,_ I thought. I walked briskly to the subway, and even though there were plenty of seats on a Sunday morning, I did not sit during the ride. My feet, encased in cheap red heels, had not yet begun to hurt and my heart beat fast with nervous energy.

I arrived at the church slightly early, but still took a seat in the back and kept my head down, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. I had to get through this if I wanted to talk to Amy at the reception. She would surely be surrounded by her in-laws until then. No one bothered me during the ceremony, all eyes fixed on the grandson of their patriarch. Sympathy crept into my heart as the boy was brought forward by his godmother and christened Matthew Alessandro Verrano. Such innocence in the midst of crooks.

The reception was held in the same courtyard as Amy's wedding reception. I stood alone at a table, untouched wine glass in front of me and white tablecloth under my fingers. The atmosphere was calm, but I felt at any moment it would all end. The chaos that had always hovered around the edges of my life would rush in and all this precarious stability would disintegrate. For the first time in a long time, I thought of my father, and my life before the city. When we didn't know if we'd have food on the table each night, when we didn't know if he would come home. My mind moved to life in New York. In many ways, Amy and I were alone together, but had somehow managed to grow apart. We were held together by our living situation, with Alice or Cornell, until we weren't anymore. I became a guest at my sister's wedding to a dangerous man I barely knew, and would meet my nephew for the first time at his christening.

Amy found me this time, and immediately handed me her baby. Her happy chatter fell on deaf ears when I stared at the child's face. His blue eyes were open and alert, set in his perfectly round face. They were Amy's eyes, and the dark hair he'd been born with was already fading to what I knew would be a beautiful blonde. He would look like Amy, in the end. But I could tell from the way the baby was calmly taking in his unfamiliar surroundings that he would be quieter, more intelligent and observant. I loved that boy from the moment I saw him, and I silently promised I would protect him.

Amy watched us and tittered, "Oooh, he likes you!" she squealed.

I looked up, my mouth open to answer her, but the words never came when I saw the man over her shoulder, striding toward us with a dark expression. After seven years, his hair was nearly completely grey, but he was just as tall, and the way he held his shoulders made him powerful.

 _Alessandro Verrano_.

Before I knew it, he was at our sides, and clutching Amy's elbow. She stiffened under his grasp and her bright smile became patently fake, but she calmly turned to face him.

"I need to speak with you," he said in a low, threatening voice.

"Of course!" Amy chirped, her eyes nervous. "Watch Matthew for me, will you, Mary?" she said to the boy's godmother before following her father-in-law into one of the buildings that formed the courtyard. Mary took the baby from me, and I didn't meet her eyes, instead watching the door Amy and Alessandro had used. As soon as Mary faded from my peripheral vision, I followed them.

The door opened silently into a dimly lit apartment. I didn't have time to consider who it belonged to before I heard voices. I froze, then realized they were not coming from inside. A door on an adjacent wall opened into an alley, and I silently moved to crouch beneath an open window, so I could hear every word.

"It's you, I _know_ it's you!" Alessandro's voice was violent, accusing.

"It's not, I swear it's not! I don't know what you're talking about!" Amy's voice betrayed her tears.

My chest tightened, and I realized what was going on. _He thinks she's the mole_.

"They have information on us going back to _your_ wedding," Alessandro raged. "This is not a coincidence!"

 _But it was_. That's when Cornell told me what he'd been doing. That's when I convinced him to go to the police.

"It is! I promise it is! I–" Amy's protests were cut short by an echoing slap and a cry of pain.

I flinched. _You came here to protect her–do something!_ my brain yelled at me. But I was frozen. I couldn't move from my place under the window.

"Don't lie to me!" Alessandro growled. I heard the click of a gun and barely stopped a cry of fear in my throat. I moved from my position on the ground and slowly stood next to the window, peering at the scene from the corner of my eye. Amy was pressed against the wall opposite the window, and Alessandro had the barrel of a gun to her throat. A red welt was spreading across one side of her face. She was crying and shaking her head, denying his accusations.

Guilt filled my stomach and my heart beat uncomfortably. _We did this,_ I thought. _She is paying for what Cornell and I did_. But I still did not know how to help her.

All my desperate thoughts fled when I realized Amy could see me. Our eyes met, and Alessandro followed her gaze. I snapped my neck away, panting, not knowing if he saw me, or recognized me. I heard Alessandro grunt and couldn't help but turn and look again. Amy had grabbed his hand when he had turned and they were struggling over the gun. I barely had time to process the scene before two shots rang in my ears and echoed off the concrete.

A scream rose in my throat but died at my lips. Amy slumped to the ground at Alessandro's feet, blood pooling under her. For several seconds, I watched and waited desperately for her to move. I _needed_ her to move.

But she didn't.

She was dead.

My Amy was dead.

I began to back away from the window, my eyes burning with tears and my breath hitching. What was going to happen? What would Alessandro do? How could Amy be _dead_? My ears were ringing from the gunshots but I could hear the strange silence coming from the courtyard. They must have heard the shots, too. Still in a haze, I slowly turned only to start violently when the door to the courtyard burst open and Angelo rushed in, followed by several other young men. They all met Alessandro in the alley and I heard gasps and raised voices. I stumbled out into the courtyard, trying to form a complete thought through the shock. People brushed past me towards the sound of the argument in the alley, but I barely noticed them. Raindrops on my head finally forced me to focus.

 _Jacket. Where's my jacket._ I looked around the deserted courtyard, spotting my jacket on the table where I had left it. I shrugged into it and pulled the hood over my head. I heard a high-pitched cry behind me and turned around to see baby Matthew. Someone had wrapped him in a flannel blanket and placed him in a conveniently sized cardboard box, which had been left on the table where the caterers had been serving food. The infant was wiggling faintly and fussing, his eyes screwed shut as raindrops hit his face. I drifted over and stared at the baby. He opened his eyes when my head blocked the rain and stared at me curiously.

 _Oh, Amy,_ I thought when I saw those eyes. Hot tears fell from my cheeks onto the blanket like rain. I might have stayed there forever, but three gunshots suddenly reverberated through the courtyard. Instinctively, I ducked my head and awkwardly tried to shelter the baby with my body, although I knew the shots must have come from the alley. I didn't know who had fired the bullets or who had received them, and I didn't want to. Before I knew what I was doing, I picked up Matthew and the box and fled the courtyard, making for the subway station.

On the subway, I clutched the baby to my chest and tried to think rationally. My first thought was to go home, back to Cornell's apartment. Then I remembered. I didn't know whether Alessandro had seen me before he killed Amy. I was a witness. They would be looking for me. They might be following me right now. I glanced around the subway car, suddenly paranoid and suspicious of anyone who threw a second glance my way. I exited as quietly as I could at the next stop and without thinking jumped onto the train on the opposite platform. After a number of nonsensical transfers, I exited the subway system and found myself in Washington Square Park, in the middle of my old university. I found a tree with reasonably thick branches to sit down and think of a better plan.

I carefully set down the box and put Matthew carefully in it. I shook out my arms, tired from carrying him from subway to subway. I sat down next to him and pulled off my heels, massaging my feet and ankles and staring at the sleeping baby. Matthew had cried at some stations, but on the last train was lulled to sleep and showed no immediate signs of waking.

I gazed around the quiet park and considered my options. A quick look at my wallet considerably narrowed them. I needed more money before I could do anything else. Whether I liked it or not, I had to return to Cornell's. It began to rain harder and I heard thunder in the distance. With a vague sense of urgency, I picked up my charge with aching arms and made my way towards the subway station that would take me home.

I knew something was wrong as soon as I entered the apartment. It was deadly quiet, and the smell of cologne hovered in the air. Cornell didn't wear cologne.

"Cornell?" I said. No answer. "Cornell?" The light in his bedroom was on and the door was ajar. I slowly entered, and found the bed unmade but empty. Then something caught my eye in the closet. I set Matthew on the bed and pulled back the sliding door. I shrieked and Matthew woke up and started crying. Cornell swung silently in front of me, one of his ties tight around his neck. A piece of paper stuck out of his pocket like a flag. Careful not to touch the body, I pulled it out. It was the note I had left for Cornell that morning. They knew. They knew it was us that had informed on them. My breath came in fearful gasps as I crumpled the note in my hand. They would be coming for me, I was sure of it. Cornell was a warning. I couldn't stay here. I had to run. I looked back at the crying baby on the bed. My heart broke again as I realized what I had to do.

* * *

Two hours after leaving the orphanage, I was lying on a thin mattress in a tenement room rented with cash under a fake name when I realized that I had left Matthew with no identifiers of any sort. He had no name, he would never know where he came from, who his family was.

 _But then,_ I thought, _Perhaps it's good that he can't look back at this family. Now, he can only move forward._


	11. Epilogue

_NYPD Official Police Report –– April 7, 1995 –– Detective Barry of Organized Crime_

The bodies of three men and one woman were found on April 3rd, 1995 in an alley next to a block of apartments owned by the Verrano crime family. The three men have been positively identified as prominent members of the family: Angelo Verrano (27), son of patriarch Alessandro; Giulio Verrano (55), brother of Alessandro; and Michael Verrano (34), nephew of Alessandro through a different brother. The woman has been identified as Amy Verrano (25), wife of Mr. Angelo. Details of the crime scene and autopsies of the victims indicate that Mr. Michael's gun was used to kill Mr. Giulio. The same gun was used to kill Ms. Verrano and Mr. Angelo, however no other firearms were found at the crime scene. Three years prior to this event, the NYPD began building a case against the Verranos for money laundering, fraud, and the sale and distribution of narcotics based on letters and bank records sent anonymously to the department, but there is evidence that the Verrano's network in New York City has been shut down and current whereabouts of Alessandro Verrano are unknown.

* * *

 _NYPD Official Police Report –– April 20, 1995 –– Detective Lewis of the 10th Precinct_

The body of a white male was discovered hanging in a Chelsea apartment on April 17, 1995. The body was identified by a former employer to be the resident of the apartment, Cornell Maxwell (32). A preliminary autopsy suggests he died a week before the discovery of his body and a death by suicide. When interviewed, Mr. Maxwell's employer stated he did not believe Mr. Maxwell showed particular evidence of distress or depression in the weeks leading up to his death. Mr. Maxwell's roommate, a cousin Rachel Maxwell (22, also next of kin), has not returned to the premises as of the filing of this report and could not be similarly questioned.

* * *

 _NYPD Official Police Report –– June 15, 1995 –– Detective Spackman of the 6th Precinct_

On Saturday, June 10, 1995, the body of a young woman was discovered floating in the Hudson River. The autopsy suggests she was in her early 20s, died 1-2 weeks prior to discovery, and the body had been in the water for most of that time. Cause of death was determined to be strangulation with a rope or cloth. No forms of identification were found on the body, and water damage has made a positive ID based on description difficult. Based on height, hair color, and eye color, it has been hypothesized that it is the body of Rachel Maxwell, cousin to a Mr. Cornell Maxwell found dead in his apartment in April. However, this theory has not been confirmed.


End file.
